


The David

by anactoriatalksback



Category: Silicon Valley (TV)
Genre: Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Especially the finale, Fix-It of Sorts, Hopeful Ending, Implied/Referenced Abuse, In a very very vague way, Jared is adept at self-delusion, Jared's past, M/M, Season/Series 05 Spoilers, nothing graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 17:21:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14753106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anactoriatalksback/pseuds/anactoriatalksback
Summary: What really matters to Holden? Is that Jared like him.He can see it in the shape of Holden’s eyes, his wet hopeful sidelong glance, his pleading hungry smile. His quivering stillness when Jared speaks to him. His muteness. His terror. His anticipation.





	The David

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I really effing hated the offhand, brutal way the show treated Jared's abuse of Holden, and I wanted someone - anyone - to hold him to account. So here we are.

‘You like him. That’s…that’s what matters.’

It _is_ what matters. Holden’s function is to serve _Richard_. To meet _Richard’s_ needs. To tend to _Richard_. If Richard likes him, that is all that matters. All that _should_ matter.

Except that it’s not what matters to Holden.

Well, it might. Somewhat. Somewhere, distantly.

But what really matters to Holden? Is that _Jared_ like him.

Or..not like, precisely. Approve of him. Tell him he’s doing a good job. Tell him he is seen. Tell him he is valued. Tell him he is needed. Tell him he is loved.

He can see it in the shape of Holden’s eyes, his wet hopeful sidelong glance, his pleading hungry smile. His quivering stillness when Jared speaks to him. His muteness. His terror. His anticipation.

The first time Holden lifts his eyes to his, fingers twitching around the edge of a teacup, Jared is puzzled – assailed – by the wrongness of it. A wrongness all the more upsetting for being…almost right. Like mistaking your hotel bedroom. It’s all there – the taupes, the greys, the aggressive industrial freshener, the gleaming white porcelain – but it’s precisely one hundred and eighty degrees off.

Because it is, he realises. He’s looking into a mirror.

 _Gosh_ , he thinks, with a shiver,  _So_ that’s _what that’s like_. _To_ receive _that look_.

 _Impossible to ignore_ , he thinks, and he thinks _well, I can use that_.

But maybe he’s mistaken his man. He’s done it before, after all. Holden’s eager to please, yes. He wants to succeed. Hardly uncommon traits.

Jared needs _commitment_. He needs to know that Holden will walk, unblinkingly, barefoot over broken bottles to buy Richard a moment’s rest. That he will, serenely, set himself alight if that is what Pied Piper needs. That he will laughingly carve out his lungs and kidneys to buy server space (they’re in good condition, Jared’s checked, they’d fetch a good price on the black market, even with the volatility over the glut of left lungs from sub-Saharan Africa. Terrible quality control. Terrible supply chain management, Jared’s wondered about business development in the market before, there’s a crying need for it, I mean really.).

Well, of course Holden won’t do any of that _now_. It’s far too early now. He’s barely ankle-deep now.

But it’s there, Jared thinks, in the set of his mouth, in the line of his shoulders. This is a man who may be persuaded to drown.

It’s there, thinks Jared, but he cautions himself not to get his hopes up. What he’s looking for is an elusive and mystical thing. He cannot imperil Pied Piper, Richard, his own heart, on frivolous hope, on light-hearted assumptions.

He follows Holden into the bathroom. Deliberately, unhurried, precisely close enough that Holden knows he’s being followed, precisely far enough that he knows it’s on purpose.

It’s only the two of them in the bathroom. That’s useful, thinks Jared, though it wouldn’t deter him. Not that there’s anything _to_ deter. Jared isn’t doing anything. He’s just…waiting.

He stands behind Holden’s right shoulder, hands behind his back, watching him as he washes his hands in the sink. Holden’s hands shake, water droplets flying.

‘Wipe down the sink’, says Jared. ‘It’s only polite, Holden.’

Holden nods, grabbing paper towels out of the dispenser. Too many, thinks Jared. Should he allow it, just this once?

 _No_ , he thinks, _we have standards. Slip now, and that’s how it begins. That’s how the rot sets in._

‘Too many, Holden’, he says. ‘We’re not made of money, are we?’

Holden starts. Shakes his head. Tries, futilely, to shove the towels back into the dispenser. Jared watches his lips begin to shake as his brain catches up with him and he realises it’s no use.

 _Quite a dilemma_ , thinks Jared. _What did I do when that happened at Hooli?_

_(‘Well, Jared?’ Gavin says to Donald. Gavin smells – curiously – of bergamot, and Jared will never be able to taste it in his tea again without feeling the paper towels scrunched up in his fist, the bathroom tiles swimming before his eyes.)_

‘Well, Holden?’, says Jared.

Holden stands, blinking furiously, staring down the mass of paper in his hands. And then he takes half of the towels and folds them – neatly, running his thumbnail down the crease – into squares that he puts in his pocket.

‘I’ll’, he coughs, ‘I’ll – I’ll use them the next time I wipe down the sink.’

 _Inventive_ , thinks Jared, impressed. _Boy’s got moxie_. _And gumption_.

It won’t do to tell him so, of course. Jared knows a thing or two about being seen, and the main thing – the crucial thing – is that it doesn’t count until you’re almost convinced you’re invisible.

So Jared says instead ‘I want the sink to _shine_ , Holden. How are you going to do that?’

Holden’s hand reaches for the soap, and Jared sighs. ‘You know the surfactants will dull the surface, Holden.’

Holden, presumably, does _not_ know that – why would he, Jared just made it up. But Jared watches his Adam’s Apple bob as he nods, mutely, contritely.

‘So’, says Jared, ‘what are you going to do?’

He watches Holden’s eyes dart inside his head. Watches as Holden lifts his face to him in supplication. ‘Wh – what should I - ’

‘Tongue, Holden’, says Jared, sighing again, ‘obviously.’

Holden stares at Jared. Jared stares back, forcing himself to be impassive. He can bring this to Holden, but he can’t make him –

And Holden turns. Bends, towel scrunched up in one hand, nose inching steadily towards the surface of the sink.

Jared watches as Holden makes his way down, nipping at the inside of his own wrist to keep from leaning forward. It is only when he sees the sliver of Holden’s tongue protrude that he intervenes.

‘Tongue, Holden?’ he makes himself sound pained, clawing at his own skin to keep the delight out of his voice. ‘Do you even _know_ the bacterial concentration of the human mouth?’

Holden stares at Jared. He straightens, slowly. Wets his lips. Says ‘S-sorry, Jared.’

Jared inclines his head. ‘I’ll have to remember this, Holden.’

Holden quivers. ‘Sorry, Jared.’

Jared turns and walks out. Once he’s at his own desk, he allows himself the smile – tremulous, bursting with hope so great it’s almost fear – that has been threatening to escape.

He watches Holden. Observes his waxy cheek, the redness around his eyes. He finds his lips tightening.

 _I stopped you_ , he thinks to himself, _I stopped you before your tongue touched the sink_.

 _You might be grateful_ , he thinks, _nobody stopped_ me.

And then Jared thinks, _but perhaps that’s the problem. Perhaps if I trusted him more – if I loved him enough – I would push him. Let him strive, let him reach, let him burn_.

He’s let Holden down, thinks Jared, and finds his hand clutching his chest. He’s let him think he’s here for a job – oh, and how crude, how menial, how vulgar, what a dingy snivelling attic room that word belongs to. A job can be completed. A job can be left. A job can be done.

A job can be done, and anyone can do a job.

But Holden – no, Holden has been _called_. Holden has been called and he has heard it, is yearning to answer, but Jared must teach him how.

It’s no light matter, to be the perfect weapon. To be the conduit of the very particular divine frequencies that animate Pied Piper, animate _Richard_. Jared has gifts in that regard, yes, but he’s also had a lifetime of practice. Of flowing through the cracks of whatever walls hem him in, of freezing or burning or lopping off or regrowing whatever parts of him don’t fit.

There is a joy – an incredulous gratitude – in knowing that Jared’s Swiss Army Knife of a soul can be placed at the feet of the one man in the world who could make sense of it, make something beautiful of it, make it mean something.

Jared doesn’t think Holden knows – that he understands – how fortunate he is. And really, how can he be expected to when it’s all come so easily to him? Who really values a costless gift?

Nobody, that’s who.

So when Holden’s spreadsheet columns are a quarter of a millimetre wider than Pied Piper house style dictates, Jared knows what he has to do.

‘Holden’, he says, ‘do you…want to be here?’

Holden starts. Stares at Jared. ‘I – Jared?’

Jared shakes his head. Slowly – how did Professor Godwin do it? ‘It’s my fault’, he says. ‘I thought I could – I thought there was something in you, that I could - ’

Holden’s eyes are huge in his face. ‘Jared, if I - ’

‘I should have listened to the others’, sighs Jared. ‘They told me – they _warned_ me.’

Holden’s beginning to shake. ‘Jared, what did - ’

Ah, yes. Argument. Questions. If this, then - . If not, then - . Jared thinks, _of course I could not have him without a fight. Of course he’d make me pay for showing him what he is capable of._

‘Jared, I did everything you asked me to.’

Jared watches Holden. He can feel a hard, cold knot form – impatience, yes, but also pity.

 _It’s not his fault_ , he tells himself. _Soft, pampered boys with their straight lines between cause and effect. He thinks he can argue. He thinks he’s in court. He thinks he knows the rules._

 _Holden_ , thinks Jared, _your rewards do not come from where you think they come. Your punishments do not either. So long as you argue like a lawyer, so long as you hold on to your justifications like a teddy bear, so long as you pretend they’re any use to you or me, so long will you need me to break you in._

Jared cannot use a conditional surrender. Who can?

‘Jared…’

He’s shaking. Jared thinks _I’m doing this for you. One day you’ll thank me. One day, when your house is going down in flames, you will look at your own perfectly-rendered Excel macro and you will feel your own pulse, steady and untroubled, and you will know that the second law of thermodynamics doesn’t apply to you any longer, that you are beyond, you are apart, you are a conduit, you are an artery of celestial music. And you will thank me. And I will not be there to receive your thanks, but I will have given this to you, and that is reward enough for me._

‘Nobody else can give you this, Holden’, says Jared. ‘Nobody else cares enough. Not like I do.’

Holden shivers. Jared leans closer.

‘But you have to let me help you.’

Holden lifts his eyes to Jared’s. Swallows. Nods.

Holden is attentive, after that. His eyes are lifted, hopefully, hopelessly, to Jared’s. Jared regulates his cortisol levels, his serotonin, his ebbs, his flows, his tides, high and low. He feels the weight of it, and the angle of it is unfamiliar, but the shape of it steadies him.

 _It’s nice to be needed_ , thinks Jared. _It’s nice that I_ can _be needed this way_. _Donald, I didn’t know you had it in you._

The next time Holden makes Richard’s tea, he spots – without Jared’s telling him – that the water is precisely one-sixteenth of a degree too hot. He backs away, hand to his mouth, and runs to the bathroom. He holds his hand under the hot water tap, tears streaming down his cheeks. One of the programmers pulls him away.

Jared puts lotion on the burn. His face is sorrowful, but he allows Holden one light touch on his shoulder. A benediction.

Holden lights up.

 _Too much_ , thinks Jared, cursing his weakness, _spare the rod, spoil the child_.

But Jared hasn’t reckoned with Richard.

‘What is _this_ shit?’

Jared looks up, inquiringly. The tone is a close cousin to Richard’s Blue-Screen-of-Death-for-no-good-goddamn-reason voice, that of an intolerable grievance patiently borne, but no longer, no longer.

He gets up – perhaps he can help – and makes his way over to Richard’s room.

‘I’m – I’m sorry, Richard, I - ’

It’s Holden’s voice. Jared’s eyes widen, then narrow. After all he’s done for Holden – after he took him, bent him, moulded him, showed him – _this_ is how he repays Jared?

Jared’s lips tighten. _I trusted you_ , he thinks, _I gave you wings, but not so you could defecate on the head of my lodestar_.

‘Richard’, he says, entering the room, ‘what is it? What did Holden do?’

Holden starts as he enters. Stares mutely at him. Jared looks at him – a long, level look – and then turns to Richard.

In answer, Richard shoves a mug of tea at him. Violently enough that it spills onto his nice new hardwood desk. Holden gasps, springing forward, sleeve at the ready to wipe.

Jared lets him – it _is_ a very nice wood, and he doesn’t want to be _cruel_ to Holden – and lifts the tea slowly to his lips. He’s bracing himself for the acrid blast of overstewed dishwater to assault his tastebuds.

He blows and takes a cautious sip.

Of quite possibly the most perfect cup of English Breakfast he’s ever had in his life.

His eyes fly to Richard’s. Richard is looking at Jared with his head to one side. His eyes slide to Holden, bent over the desk, ruining his lilac hoodie with the spilt tea he’s caught on his sleeve, and then lift back to Jared’s. There’s something in them – a gloating vulpine satisfaction, a look Jared’s only seen before in Peter Gregory’s garage, and Jared shivers.

_‘Can I – Can I try something?’_

_What are you trying, Richard,_ thinks Jared, _what are you asking me to try with you?_

It remains unclear to Jared what Richard wants of him, but it seems clear that he’s taken the opposite of a shine to Holden. Or rather, a shine of a very particular kind.

He sets him pointless and menial tasks – Jared really cannot see what pleasure or profit is to be gained from unpicking the logo on the Pied Piper jackets and redoing them with the feather at an infinitesimally different angle. He supposes there’s a certain value in it for Holden: a Spartan rigour, an inculcation of Zen dissociation through repetitive labour.

But when he’s performed the tasks without complaint (Jared taught him well, oh so well), when he’s literally bled for Richard, Jared does think that Holden deserves – oh, not thanks, it won’t do to breed entitlement in him – but silence. The silence that breathes approval _in absentia_.

He does _not_ deserve, thinks Jared, a furious tirade about the angle of the feather on one of the jackets (which Jared thinks lends it a rather D’Artagnan swagger).

‘This fucking…it looks like a, a, if a bird was, was like it was _mugged_ , Holden, in an _alley_ , what - ’

‘Richard?’ says Jared, stepping into the room. ‘May I talk to you?’

He’s not sure what possesses him, but as Holden stumbles out of the room, he touches him on the arm. Two fingers, nothing more, but Holden’s spine straightens.

 _Good boy_ , thinks Jared, _go to your desk and wait for me there._

He closes the door behind him and turns to Richard.

‘Richard, can I ask - ’

‘Why I’m picking on your little _project_?’

Jared jolts at Richard’s voice. It’s tight, pinched, ugly.

‘Richard, what - ’

‘Because he’s _yours_ , yeah, Jared? Yours to fucking…push, and bully, and, and fucking torment, but God forbid anyone else try to, to join in?’

And it’s as though every single word is a harpoon in Jared’s flesh. He says ‘torment?’

‘Nooooo, Jared’s toy is Jared’s, nobody else is allowed to - ’ and Richard pulls himself up short. He blinks at Jared, head to one side. He says slowly ‘You…you don’t know, do you?’

Jared’s head is shaking, slowly at first, then with gathering conviction. ‘Richard, Richard, you don’t understand, I’m hard on him, yes, I have to be, he needs to see if he’s going to, to learn, but - ’

‘Jared, you watched as he held his hand under _boiling water_.’

Jared flushes. ‘He was – Holden has high standards, Richard, he did that himself, I - ’

‘You _watched_.’

 _Yes, I watched,_ Jared wants to scream _, it was beautiful, beautiful, to know that I could put away the irons and the whip, that Holden wore them in his soul, that the binds released him, dancing in divine_ furor _, like a Maenad, it was glorious, glorious, I gave him this, I gave_ you _this, how can I make you understand, this is all for him, for_ you _, and you’ll never know, you can never know, you’ll never, ever understand, you’ll never_ have _to._

Jared says instead ‘I did it for him.’

Richard’s face – that beautiful, mobile, exquisitely expressive face – is doing a thousand things. He’s blinking rapidly, his mouth is twisting and untwisting, and he looks as though he’s going to cry.

And Jared can’t, he can’t bear it, can’t bear to watch Richard’s bewilderment and hurt and know he was the author of it, no, not even to whisper Holden into the full flower of being.

‘Richard’ he says, holding out his hands, ‘please, please, tell me, I only meant for Holden to be better, to serve you better, tell me, tell me, does he not, what can he, what can I do, Richard, I want to - ’

‘So’, says Richard, ‘when you – stopped me from - ’

Jared hesitates. Licks his lips. Says delicately ‘I – Richard, I thought that criticism was….a little….unnecessary, I – I want to show him what he can become, Richard, not to, to discourage him, I - ’

Richard scrubs his face and nods. He looks at Jared, mouth straight, eyes clear, and says ‘I know.’

Jared blinks. ‘You - ’

Richard nods. ‘That’s what I told Monica.’

‘Monica – ?‘

Richard nods again. ‘She wanted to have you stop supervising Holden.’

 _Take Holden away from me?,_ thinks Jared incredulously, _take him away just as he’s coming into his own? Just as I am savouring the fruit of my labour? Take him away?_

‘She – er – she wanted to have you…stop supervising…kinda…. _anyone_.’

Jared’s head snaps around to Richard’s. Richard winces and shrugs. ‘She’s – she’s kinda – pissed with you, Jared.’

Monica’s angry? But why would she be, she hasn’t –

‘Richard’, says Jared, ‘I don’t – I don’t understand. I stopped Holden.’

‘Jared, I – no, you didn’t. Kenny Wang dragged him away from the tap in the bathroom.’

‘Not that’, says Jared, with a dismissive wave of his hand. ‘And I put ointment on the burn anyway. Nobody did that for me.’

Richard’s eyes widen. Jared continues ‘No, I meant – I stopped him from licking the sink.’

There’s a long pause. Richard opens his mouth and then shuts it. Twice. Carefully, he says ‘So.That. Makes. You….Better?’

Jared is silent. Diplomatically silent.

‘Jared’, says Richard, ‘the way I – when I was. With Holden. That.’

‘Richard’, says Jared, ‘I – are you really comparing your behaviour towards Holden with mine?’

Richard takes a very long breath. Before saying ‘Jared? I’m saying I was nicer.’

Jared starts backwards. He’s opening his mouth to respond – he loves Richard, but even divinity is allowed error, Jared will forgive him, but he must point it out – when Richard leans forward, urgently. ‘Jared. Jared, please. The stuff I said – did – to Holden. How did that – you came in, remember? You stopped me?’

‘Yes’, says Jared, ‘of course.’

‘How – how would you – what would you say, Jared, if, if, if, everyone else m-made Holden l-lick the sink, whatever the fuck that is, if you were to, to - ’

Jared’s shaking his head , fists clenching by his side, they wouldn’t, they couldn’t, how could they, no, no, no of course Jared would –

And then it washes over him. A sick, roiling, hot wave. Violently, outside of himself. Holden, tears and snot running down his face, rubbing his chin against Aunt Martha’s knees while her knuckles rest in his hair, Professor Godwin’s desk, the sink, the barn, the rope, little Donald, little Holden, how grateful, how _grateful_ he is.

‘Jared’, says Richard, ‘you – Hooli, you said. Like an abusive spouse, remember?’

Jared winces. ‘I remember.’

Jared’s looking away – he can’t meet Richard’s eyes – but he knows Richard’s licking his lips. Just once. Shuffling a little closer. ‘I just - ’

Jared shudders. Manages to look up, squarely, at Richard. ‘I’ll – I’d like to resign, Richard.’

Richard responds immediately, it seems he’s ready for that. ‘No.’

‘I’ll apologise’, says Jared, ‘I’ll apologise to Holden – unreservedly, Richard, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’ _(Holden, Donald, I’m sorry, I’m sorry)_ , and Jared can feel a tide, a flood of words, recriminations, braided whips to rain down on himself, there they are, right to hand, and oh what a relief they would be….but he doesn’t deserve them, he thinks, no solace to be found in the tossing currents of verbiage, no easy balm of eloquence. There is action, immediate action, and the cold, pitiless light of day. He takes a breath. ‘But this can’t harm Pied Piper, we need to separate the firm from my actions, I need to, to take responsibility, Richard, it needs to be clear where the guilt lies, you can’t, you can’t be tainted by me, Richard, Richard, I’m not _safe_ , I - ’

 Richard laughs, a strange sound, bubbling, gleeful, raging. ‘Little late for that.’

Jared recoils. ‘What - ’

‘Monica came to me’ says Richard, ‘a month ago? More?’

‘A month?’

Then a month – a _month_ – ago, it was visible, plain, naked, palpable, which means it must have –

‘She came to me’, says Richard, ‘and I told her to. Y’know. Back off.’

Jared’s head is shaking. ‘It – but – why?’

The colour’s rising in Richard’s cheeks. ‘It – I thought – you’d – y’know – this isn’t you, I thought – I knew – you’d. Fix it. Realise.’

‘But I didn’t’, says Jared. ‘If you hadn’t – ‘

‘Yeah’, says Richard, ‘But – y’know – it’s. You know now.’

‘But’, says Jared, ‘Richard? This _is_ me.’

Richard jolts, violently. ‘Don’t.’

‘It is’, says Jared. ‘If you hadn’t – Richard, if you hadn’t shown me, I – I wouldn’t have – Richard, you can’t imagine what I, I - ’

Richard’s hands shoot up, bracketing Jared’s face. His eyes bore into Jared’s. ‘This. Isn’t. You.’

Jared stares into Richard’s eyes – blue, fierce, pleading.

 _Richard,_ he thinks _, this_ is _me. This has_ always _been me, as long as you’ve known me. I am a chisel, a hammer, an anvil, a forge. I am an instrument, Richard, a weapon, what did you think I was meant for?_

Richard says – and Jared fights to keep his eyes open as his breath fans over Jared’s cheeks –  ‘I – Jared, I – when you, the way you, you are, with, with, just, your, the way you are for, for Pied Piper - ’

‘For _you_ ’, says Jared, for the sake of accuracy. Richard’s eyes close, briefly.

‘For me’, he says on a whisper, and his thumbs tremble at the corners of Jared’s mouth. ‘I – I don’t. Need. Another guy with – I don’t need, like, a mini-Jared.’

Jared’s eyes widen. ‘I – Richard, am I - ’ and oh, oh, it’s hardly the first time he’s thought this, ‘am I – am I too much for - ’

‘No’, says Richard. ‘No, fuck too much. I’m just - ’ and oh, his thumbs are back, resting shyly, tentatively, against Jared’s lower lip, ‘I – I just – I don’t want a, _another_ Jared. I just - ’ he swallows, ‘want my – the – want the Jared I – _we_ – have, like - ’

 _Cut it out_ , thinks Jared. _Richard doesn’t need this from you. You – whatever you are – keep it within you. But the reproduction – the parthenogenesis, the mitosis? Cut it out._

 _I can do that_ , he thinks, awash with relief.

‘I can do that’, he says.

Richard’s face breaks into an ecstatic, tremulous smile. ‘That’s – that’s what I told the others.’

 _The others_ , thinks Jared, _the others, oh, the sorrow, the scorn, the revulsion, who could blame them, Jared deserves it, all of this and more, but Richard, Richard laying a flaming sword between Jared and his doubters, his own destruction, oh Richard, Richard,_ Richard.

‘You protected me’, says Jared on a breath, oh how sweet, what unutterable luxury, to have this from Richard, to owe this to Richard, this too, how intimate, how familiar, to feel the grapnel in his heart, the particular hundredweight of obligation, how glorious, how inexpressibly dear. ‘You did, Richard. From – from the others.’

Richard looks at Jared, a long long look. The thumb resting on Jared’s lip twitches, then moves into a strange little tattoo.

‘Jared?’, he says, with that quick sharp grin. ‘We have a secret.’

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks to the incandescently talented and generous joycecarolnotes for brainstorming, encouragement, guidance and all-round loveliness.
> 
> My tumblr handle is itsevidentvery, if you'd like to come yell with me there.
> 
> Also, let me know if I need to add any tags!


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